


Purple Haze

by littleisis13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 4/20, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleisis13/pseuds/littleisis13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean needs a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Haze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pixiealamode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiealamode/gifts).



Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and I do not condone the use of illegal substances, I guess.

Summary: Cas and Dean smoke some weed. Sam walks in and is indignant until he also smokes some weed. 

“Going out to the bar tonight Dean?” Sam asked, well aware of his brother's drinking habits after a particularly tough job.   
“No, I'm going to bed early, Sammy,” Dean replied broodingly. He didn't like the biting tone in his voice that revealed to his younger brother the stress he'd been under. Even though Sam was trying to establish his independence, he still wanted to be strong for him. It was an urge that would never go away. “Right after I get a burger in this chick car we've been driving the past week and go take a load off.”   
After hanging up with Sam, Dean considered the thank-you present the teenage boy they'd rescued on their last job had given him. A Leviathan with a fondness for THC had been eating people who smoked pot. The kid was a pot dealer and was thus on the sick freak's four star menu. Sam and Dean had come in time to save him, but not his mother. He'd nonetheless given Dean an ounce of home grown when Sam wasn't looking.   
Dean was starting to feel like the whiskey wasn't enough anymore to keep him on his game. What harm would a few doobies do him, anyway?   
A flutter of wings announced the arrival of Castiel just as he finished rolling his first. “What's up, Cas?” Dean asked. Things were still awkward between them, but Dean couldn't muster up the energy to care. He lit the joint's tip with Sam's zippo and inhaled the smoke, which tasted sweet. The kid had called it strawberry something or other.   
“I came because I still wish to make amends for my past actions,” Castiel replied. He cocked his head at Dean, frowning slightly. “Dean, what are you doing?”  
“Smoking pot, Cas. Want to hit it?”   
Cas stared at him, a partially blank but faintly curious look on his worn face.   
Dean started to giggle. “Man, Cas you gotta try this shit. I'll never bring up the stuff about purgatory again if you do.”   
“I will try,” he replied solemnly. He sauntered closer to Dean. “What must I do?”  
“Suck on the end, inhale...” Castiel took the joint from Dean's weathered fingers and held it delicately between his thumb and forefinger the way he'd seen Dean do, and did as he was bade.   
“Now, exhale,” Dean instructed. He giggled again as Castiel's plume of smoke blew through his hair.   
“I suddenly feel very pleasant,” Castiel said, the curl of a small smile forming on his mouth, the previous tightness in his tone loosening. “This is not sufficient punishment for my actions. It is a reward.”   
“Yeah, you're right you ass hole. But I don't care anymore. I mean, what's the point? My whole life is bull shit and that's not going to change. So I'm going to smoke this weed, order a new gun online, maybe eat some candy, watch some Hentai.”   
Castiel stared off into space. “Dean, know what I wish we could find one day? A unicorn. I would much like to meet a unicorn instead of all of the violent monsters. I'm an angel but I really hate violence.”  
“You're the Unicorn, Cas,” Dean giggled.   
“But listen Dean, you are still like family to me. Because of what I've done I wish to be your servant for the rest of your mortal life, like the large furry creature is to the daredevil pilot in the space movie that was on your television yesterday,” Castiel said, trying and failing to look serious.   
Dean laughed uproariously. “Fine Cas, you'll be the Chewbaca to my Han Solo.” Dean briefly looked stunned, and then added, “Dude, that's totally who we are. Chewbaca and Han Solo.”  
“Indeed,” Castiel replied. “I felt the same way as I was watching that movie.”   
` The two of them pondered this great revelation for a moment before Dean giggled and couldn't stop for several minutes, as they continued to pass the joint between them. For some reason it made Castiel laugh because Dean's laughing was so funny.   
“Why do I suddenly not feel miserable?” Castiel asked, marijuana smoke swirling around them and gently curling out of the window, clinging to the glass.   
“Probably because you're smoking grass,” Sam said, his large shadow covering the both of them in darkness as he walked up to the passenger door. God damn that Sammy and his GPS tracking bull shit, Dean thought.   
Sam scowled irritably, shaking his head. “Dean, smoking weed? Shouldn't we be staying on our game? The Leviathans are clowning around and fucking shit up all over the place and you're blowing trees?”   
“Relax, Sammy. I give no fucks. So what? We hunt monsters and it sucks, so we might as well smoke up all the weed. Christ, all of our friends are dead. Why aren't we stoned all the time? God bless America!”   
“You're a bag of dicks, Dean.” Sam replied irritably as Dean giggled tentatively. “I can't believe I have to put up with you being stoned all of the time now on top of all of your other bull shit.”  
Dean dissolved into a fit of giggles as Castiel tried to give Sam a serious look. “Hey Sam, guess what?” he asked in mock earnest.  
“What?”  
“Chicken butt!” Castiel shouted joyfully, and then collapsed on the floor with Dean, both of them shaking with mirth.  
“Oh my god,” Sam had to chuckle. They were clowns, yes, but they were his clowns. “All right, let me hit that.”   
“Atta boy, Sammy,” Dean roared and passed Sam the joint. He plucked it from his older brother's fingers and hit it swiftly and hard, the same way he had when taking a load off on Sunday evenings at Stanford. He exhaled as he hopped into the back seat of the impala.   
“You guys are such jerks,” he grinned, all ready feeling the stuff as he passed the doobee to Cas.   
“And you're a little bitch,” Castiel replied.   
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “With your little bitch face, you god damn... bitch.”   
Smoke filled the impala as the boys and their Guardian Angel continued their inebriated banter for the rest of the evening. Rolling joint after joint under the stars, the seemingly endless trauma of their lives momentarily vanished in a glorious puff of smoke.


End file.
